You Take It Off First
by Ephere
Summary: In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.
1. Ladies First

Title: You Take It Off First  
>Author: Ephemeral Rainfall<br>Summary: In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
>Rating: T<br>Pairing: Guess  
>AN: Meant to be up on GxU day, but I lost the flashdrive. Edit: Profanity uncensored.  
>Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine. Yet.<p>

_~After You~_

The air was alight with the hum of descending darkness, riddled with the chirrup of crickets and the muted roar of civilization. The night held a gusty, serene, gray sky muffled by dense globules of plump clouds deceptively heavy with phantom rain. Ulquiorra Schiffer was seated beside the west-facing window in his apartment, said portal propped open by a stray paperweight, inclined just so to cordially allow in the faintest whisperings of a fall breeze but also hostilely slight enough to bar intruders of the winged variety.

A well-leafed textbook nestled upon his crossed legs, a notebook lined with dense legions of meticulous, minute lettering propped against one knee, Ulquiorra's eyes attentively trailed the 10-pt narration of the history of Socratic seminar, one finely-boned hand lifting to rift the page every so often, the other scratching diligently away, as the puffing wind rifled ghostly fingers through his hair.

Languidly, he began the delicate loop of a letter—_**SLAM**__—_only to finish it in a jagged streak across the page.

"Jaegerjacques." Not bothering to look up at the nuisance that had just kickboxed open his window and sent his paperweight on an airborne expedition across the room, Ulquiorra irately picked up his eraser and began to work on eradicating the hideous mar on his notes.

"Ulquiorra," the other acknowledged in the same tone, teasingly. He didn't say anything else, just content to squat on the windowsill, the panes on either side of him flung wide open as wind and all sorts of unwelcome idlers flooded into the room, beginning with the thug on the window, triumphant trailblazer of petty annoyances.

The silence stretched between them broken only by the _scritch_ of the pencil, the one seated on the floor refusing to give the one crouching on the ledge the benefit of a glance, the latter likewise waiting out the game of endurance.

Ulquiorra was perfectly content to continue on, and would have if not for the wet feeling beginning on his head and creeping down his nape. He snapped up and batted the mostly empty bottle out of the intruder's hands, patience gone, getting a good look at his uninvited guest.

Exasperatingly haughty expression rending his face, the cyan-haired male self-addressed as 'Grimmjow Goddamn Jaegerjacques' confidently leaned back on his haunches, chiseled chest exposed brazenly in his open navy blazer, speckled with darkened spots of rain, loose jeans slung disconcertingly low, rendering the expensive belt he sported nothing more than decoration. His name brand sneakers were crusted with a thin sheen of dirt that caked the whitewashed sill of the once spotless window, and from the slight outline of burgundy that ringed the bits of filth, Ulquiorra could tell that his uninvited caller had scaled the rusty drainpipe that always clogged. It was next to impossible to get a good hold on that moody contraption. He was touched, really, he was.

The other still had yet to say another word under the inspection, happy to grind his disgusting footwear against the ruined sanitation of white. Upon Ulquiorra's expectant frown, the insufferable grin widened.

The resident made a subtle cough.

Still nothing.

Ulquiorra could feel oncoming hints of frustration. It seemed like the delinquent hadn't quite comprehended his intentions.

"What are you doing?" he patiently clarified.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?"

"Trespassing. Shall I show you out?"

"Nah, s'okay. Just got here."

"…Why, exactly?"

"Need a place ta crash."

"Go to your own apartment."

"Can't. Left my keys at Carnie Hall." Figures, the idiot would do something like that even after Ulquiorra went to all the trouble to fasten his blasted articles to a proper lanyard and chain. Blue-haired buffoon had probably pawned it off to splurge on spray paint and other questionable substances.

If circumstances had been different, Ulquiorra might have been tempted to gloat, and then he'd proceed to boot the bastard out of the door and into the streets, laughing all the way. In retrospect, it was a very childish and unproductive notion, but Ulquiorra would allow himself this one mental indulgence: picturing Grimmjow as a half-drowned cat he'd kicked into the rain at leisure. But he couldn't do that; circumstances were circumstances. Real-life Grimmjow would pound and scream obscenities at his door until one or all of his elderly neighbors brought the law enforcement down on them, and he was already on their radar for a slew of small dismissible ridiculous things. Moronic senior generation, most of the things they still considered death sentence-worthy were now less than illicit.

…Wait…Ulquiorra realized something. Carnegie Hall and the entire surrounding campus was closed for the week…which meant the cretin wouldn't have his keys until after then…which meant that he was going to be a leech in Ulquiorra's life for a full seven days; 168 hours; 10,080 minutes.

At the rate of one inappropriate comment every five waking minutes, that meant…

…Bloody hell.

"Hey, you still in there?"

He knocked aside the hand in his face. "Of course I am. Remove yourself from my vicinity."

The hand retreated. "I'm crashin' here," Grimmjow said by way of explanation, toeing off his grimy shoes and depositing them at his previous seat. As if Ulquiorra hadn't already deduced as much. As if he had the right to determine so.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Hell yea."

This was going to go on all night if he didn't do something, he knew from experience. "Why can't you bother Kurosaki? He lives closer to the university." Ulquiorra absentmindedly gathered the canoe-sized containers by their laces, unwittingly already displaying his acquiescence that his unsolicited company was here to stay.

Grimmjow noticed, and smugly grinned to himself, bending over his still-seated host. "Berry's got a big test comin' up. He needs to focus."

"I'm touched by your utter lack of concern for my academia."

"You can focus with me around. B'sides, he's outta town for the weekend visitin' family. You were there when he said as much."

Of course Ulquiorra knew. He had just…conveniently misplaced that tidbit of information.

Still, he wasn't going to welcome a wild brute into his home just because the dimwit had nowhere else to go. "Go find a hotel."

"No money." Ulquiorra had no retort to that. "Oh, now you're all quiet? Well, you could always lend me somethin', but I can't promise to pay ya back. Matter of fact, can't promise I'd leave either, I like it here." Grimmjow poked him in the leg with a bare toe. "Not that ya mind, a' course."

Folding his papers together with utmost endurance, the dark-haired student stood up after finally tiring of being wet, walking to the front entrance which normal people entered through and setting the soiled footwear onto the boot tray. He was pleasantly surprised to find that not only was he saturated, he was also sticky.

He faced the perpetrator. "Grimmjow. What did you pour on me?"

Again with that infernal grin.

"Whatdid you pour on me?"

A waggle of the eyebrows.

"I'm not going to ask you again."

The straggler held up the bottle, only the dregs of some clear-ish, faintly yellowed substance at the bottom of it. Between the perverse smile on his face and the wicked gleam in his eyes, Ulquiorra felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The sick idiot.

"OW! Shit, what the fuck was that for?"

"You tell me, Jaegerjacques."

"It's just juice, I swear! Faggot! Ow, that hurt!"

"I was not the one leering like a psychopath."

"You take things too literal!"

"…You pour a dubious fluid down my back, stand there and smile like a maniac, and I'm not supposed to question your motives?"

"Fine, but ya gotta admit, that look on your face was—_OW!_" Grimmjow shoved Ulquiorra away by the shoulder. "Quit hitting me, I get it!"

"I thought you said I punched like a female?" Yes, that purple beltin jiujitsu completely supported that.

"No, I said you slap like a bitc—_HOLY__—_stop already!"

"Maybe that was feminine enough for you?"

"That's not a slap, idiot!" Grimmjow snatched both of the belligerent limbs. "You're real violent today."

"More reason for you to leave." Ulquiorra made no move to free his wrists.

A smirk thwarted all hope of that possibility. "Nah, I think I like this guy better than the holier-than-thou pole-up-his-ass bastard."

"…Let go."

"No."

"…"

Ulquiorra snapped his wrists roughly to the side, making Grimmjow's knuckles knock into the wall. With a curse, Grimmjow lost his hold, his hostage slipping to freedom.

Newfound liberty in hand, the shorter of the two was just about to make a clean getaway when a blockade intercepted his flight. Ulquiorra composedly stared down the forearm at his eyelevel, before his beryl gaze traced up the appendage to a pair of amused sapphires.

Grimmjow smirked at him.

"_Where_d'ya think _yer_ goin'?"

"That is none of your business. Move."

"Innit?" He seemed genuinely perplexed otherwise, but nonetheless staged a theatrical glance behind him. "Bedroom, eh? What're you gonna do in there?"

Insufferable moron.

"Must be awful _lonely_ in this empty asylum, huh?" his nuisance continued in that awful, drawling voice, suggestive tone coloring his words. "Wouldn't mind if I joined ya?"

Ulquiorra resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "If you must know, I'm going to wash off the substance you poured on me. Now move."

"Yeah, that sounds real fun, but how'm I gonna know you're not cuttin' or doin' some other emo bull in there?" Now he was just being stupid for the sake of being stupid.

"Because I'm not you. Move."

Instead of another _dreadfully__witty_ line of boorishly constituted banter, Grimmjow's mouth produced a noise not unlike a rain-violated feline. Then Ulquiorra stopped himself at the thought of making a metaphor of the aggressive blue-headed lout before him to a domestic kitty.

Grimmjow seemed authentically miffed to be left alone. Grimmjow…the lone king…scared to be left alone…

"…"

"…Stop staring at me like that! Geez, you look like that Kuchiki shrimp when she sees rabbits," cyan eyes self-consciously shifted away from the confrontation. "…Actually," they rolled back to him, "I'm flattered. Really."

Brainless brute.

"Move your arm."

"It's not goin' anywhere, and neither are you. I'm gonna use yer bath fer a minute, don't wait up."

Ulquiorra frowned. Of all the—! "Grimmjow, I'm not going to stand here and wait with your juice all over me. You can—"

"That's what she said."

He almost got slapped for that, but since an open palm was not a usual method of assault for the shorter, he easily caught the blow. "Toldja ya slap like a bitch." Ulquiorra jerked his wrist free, indignation in his movement, and chose to ignore the comment.

"I'm taking a shower, Grimmjow, because it is my bathroom."

"I'm takin' a bath cuz I'm yer _guest_," came the cool retort.

"It is _my_ bathroom."

"It's also _your_ guest."

"You're a freeloader, Jaegerjacques."

"You're a wet blanket, Schiffer."

Ulquiorra had had enough. Not of insults, one would never stop at 'enough' with Grimmjow around, but of not being able to reach his bathtub. The collar of his shirt chafed at his skin, and his neck gummed discomfortingly whenever he moved. He attempted to duck under the arm of the infernal man once again, only to be met with another arm across his chest. How many arms did he have?

"I'll be quick, and then you can shower. Now let me pass."

"No. Your girly ass always uses up all the hot water, think I don't know that?" This was getting really bothersome.

"Grimmjow. I have classes in the morning. You can bathe while I'm gone then, alright?" Ulquiorra pushed at the limb, but it didn't budge.

"Ha ha. Nice try. I know yer classes are canceled this week too. Tryna ditch me, are ya?" How did Grimmjow know about that? Stalker.

"Nothing to say?" That smirk, all lethal angles and far too much teeth. As much as Ulquiorra denied it, the gesture made his insides lurch.

Nonetheless, he had been called out. For lack of retorts, Ulquiorra turned to voicing his rarely-heard thoughts. "Your expression is nauseating."

It grew, showing pink gums. "Charmed. We can't all be as pretty as you, Dollface."

"Call me that again," Ulquiorra threatened.

Grimmjow sniggered, and too late the shorter realized that the buffoon was probably tone-deaf. "If you insist, _Dollface_."

Ulquiorra elbowed him in the stomach and dashed into the bathroom. The green-eyed boy locked the door smugly as a variety of curses could be heard from the other side, a body slamming against the secured portal. Then he himself swore softly, cradling his tingling forearm. It felt like he had just jarred his nerves against a concrete wall.

The doorknob jiggled disconcertingly.

"Schiffer, you little bastard! I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck, you sunnuva killdeer, inbred three-toed sloth, and Portuguese Man-O'-War in a threesome—!" He stopped listening. If the dimwit placed all of his creative efforts fantasizing about various animal mating rituals into his drama club acting, he'd be halfway to Broadway by now.

Shaking his head, Ulquiorra smiled subtly at the flow of insults addressing the sexual preferences of his distant family, unbuttoning his shirt and preparing to slip into the shower. The slickness on his neck protested irately as he disdainfully peeled his collar from his skin.

The doorknob clicked.

Before Ulquiorra could register what had happened, he was shoved backwards by the invading blur, stumbling for a few embarrassing steps before he dropped backend first into the bathtub.

"Surprise!" Grimmjow chirped, both arms in the air as he roared with laughter.

Ulquiorra steadied himself, glaring hard. If that imbecile broke his lock—

"Relax, Dollface, I didn't break anything." He held up a pen center. "Took one try."

"Don't call me—," in that instant Ulquiorra realized that the other was no longer listening to him, his eyes instead intently fixated on—

Ulquiorra quickly yanked the shower curtain over.

The cerulean-eyed male snapped out of it and began chuckling. "Yer too easy, Schiffer!" With one fluid motion, he tore the curtain back, revealing Ulquiorra clumsily re-buttoning his shirt.

The shorter boy looked up, face flushed. "What are you doing in here?"

"Nope. Explain."

Ulquiorra didn't waiver. "Explain yourself first."

It wasn't like they hadn't seen each other shirtless before. It was just that…well…

Grimmjow's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't try lawyering me, Schiffer. What was that. Tell me."

In a last-attempt at distracting the sky-haired mongrel, Ulquiorra stood to his full height and glowered, effect lessened only slightly by the half-foot difference. "Jaegerjacques, what do you want from me? You climb into my home from the window like some thief at an ungodly hour—,"

"It's barely midnight."

"You drench me in juice—,"

"Only cuz you were ignoring me—,"

"You spout annoying things for no reason other than to be a pest—,"

"That hurts, Ulqui."

"And then you barge in while I'm trying to practice hygiene," Ulquiorra rattled off, having barely had to raise his voice the entire time to achieve the desired illusion of anger.

Grimmjow saw through it. "…Practice hygiene." He snorted. "What the hell are you, a children's dentist poster?" He took another step forward. "Nice try, but I know what I saw. The fuck was that?"

_~Ladies First~_

A/N: Curse my inability to write short things. Moar chapters shall follow, when depends on response. Was s'posed to be a one-shot…but I guess I need to explain their relationship first…

Reviews are like caffeine for my fingers and plotbunnies. Please feed?


	2. The Best Kept Secrets

Title: _You __Take __It __Off__ First  
>Author<em>: Ephemeral Rainfall  
><em>Summary<em>: In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
>Rating: T<br>_A/N:_ I'm so sry about the delay, especially cuz I promised reviews = fast update D: I was away for a trip & my library books were due, so I had to finish my summer essays. Then my beta had a trip and I wasn't confident with this chapter, so I waited.  
>…sry to my international readers too… don't worry, English wasn't my 1st language either. I'll try to cut down on nerdiness...next chapter.<br>Here u go. Hold on to ur hats, it's about to get dark. hope it's okay.  
>Beta: <em>Burning<em>_November_, who actually did her job this chapter. (jk, ilu, so many poptartcats 2 u for taking time from ur busy busy schedule to read this trash!)

_Chapter 2  
>~The Best Kept Secrets~<em>

"_Nice try, but I know what I saw. The fuck was that?"_

Eloquent, wasn't he? Ulquiorra firmly grasped the seam of his shirt with one hand, realizing that there was no hope for diversion. Once Grimmjow was set on something, even a nuclear explosion would be water off a duck's back.

"It's none of your concern, Jaegerjacques." He was just bluffing now, but surely Grimmjow was also.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and took a step forward. "When's that stopped me?"

Ulquiorra returned his advance. Fire must be fought with fire.

Saying nothing, Grimmjow's bare feet made another step.

The smaller pair did the same.

Grimmjow took one more step.

Ulquiorra ducked around—tried to. His arm was once again captured.

"The ol' slip an' run's getting old, Dollface!" Grimmjow snickered, remembering at the last minute to tack on that degrading address.

"Get out of my bathroom, Jaegerjacques!" Ulquiorra swatted unconvincingly at the limb that anchored him in place and was suitably astonished to find it yielding. The other dropped his hold completely, stepping away with both palms up.

Ulquiorra's balance faltered at the unexpected release in support, alarmed that his order had actually been obeyed—

Not.

Grimmjow, taking advantage of Ulquiorra's transitory loss in steadiness, shoved him roughly against the wall by the shoulders, one hand sliding down to trap his bicep to the wall. Dodging the instinctive knee in the gut, Grimmjow wrenched his fingers into the fabric of Ulquiorra's shirt and yanked hard, effortlessly popping the line of buttons.

Jaw falling open, he instantly dropped the stretched cloth.

Hell. No.

There, emblazoned boldly against a canvas of snow-white skin, was a simple, black, Victorian 4.

How…?

"…But—" his fingers released their bruising imprisonment of the bony forearm. He inhaled. "…Shit…"

This wasn't real. He blinked twice, but it didn't waver.

This was…this was…

He had a tattoo of the same style, the same font, the same concept: a gothic 6, patterned into the flesh of his lower right back. He'd had it for years now, and the memories that came with it were less than pleasant. "…Shit…"

"Is that all you can say?" an irritated, clipped sentence burst into his contemplation.

Grimmjow frowned. "Shut the fuck up!" Why was he so aggravated? "The hell d'you get this for? It wasn't here last week!"

Ulquiorra's eyes widened in confusion, but the look was quickly swept away. "None of—,"

"Fuck you, it's all my fucking concern! Why'd you copy me? Why'd you get a tattoo like that?"

Ulquiorra became deathly silent, eyes dulling.

Grimmjow did not want to deal with his temper tantrums. The other, no matter how maturely he carried himself, was nothing but an upstart child at heart. "Well? Talk, and don't get all pissy on me."

Ulquiorra's eyebrow ticked in annoyance. "You are not the only one."

"Huh? What're you yammering about? I'm asking—,"

"This…you don't remember what this is?"

Of course he remembered: how could he ever forget? However, it had nothing to do with Ulquiorra. The ignorant intrusion felt nigh sacrilegious. "The hell are you smoking, Schiffer?"

"…You honestly…do not remember?"

"Don't remember what?" Grimmjow was authentically confused, inner accusations gone at the other's hesitant tone. No…this had absolutely nothing to do with Ulquiorra…

Ulquiorra swallowed, atypically uneasy. He was treading discomforting ground, and any misdirected step could land on an unwelcome cue that would detonate in their faces, much like a minefield. He had attempted to skirt the topic as long as possible, but to know that Grimmjow had forgotten…it was as if his only empathizer had evaporated. He truly stood alone now.

"That…" he tried again, stretching for the dying hope that maybe Grimmjow was only putting up a front. "That day…when all this happened—,"

"Look, I got my tattoo when I was twelve 'cuz I stepped in with the wrong crowd. You were halfway across the country then, right? So stop shitting me and tell me _what __the __fuck __you__'__re __playing__ at_," Grimmjow clarified, baring his heart in hopes that Ulquiorra would spill as well.

"…You do not recall…me?" the reply came softly, with an almost crushed sort of longing that Grimmjow had never expected or desired to hear from the stone-faced male in front of him.

"I…" He wanted to remember now. Desperately. He wanted to look back to that sepia-toned haze, with its rotted corners and threadbare curtains and see that face…Grimmjow only then realized how selfish he would be to wish for that, but hadn't Ulquiorra been doing the same if they really were speaking of one thing?

A wish for empathy…what a treacherous, foolhardy, clever aspiration.

"…"

He thought hard, painstakingly so as he once again plunged into those dark corridors, where his days were harsh and raw, laced with bittersweet cyanide and filtered with a drug-induced smoke, an endless cycle of worn green paper and the sting of cold metal against his hands, icy steel that would scream and recoil at the touch of his finger, a bloom of scarlet wherever he aimed the death-giving end. Somewhere in the turns of rusted iron and dangling cords, there was, rendered into a whisper by the scent of exotic incense, a shadow of a figure: small, fragile…

Innocent.

Feelings of greed and hate surfaced within his reminiscence, a burning want to destroy, taint…why should his hands alone be bloodstained? Fragility was only an obstacle; once broken, the reconstructed would never need to worry about wholesomeness again.

A gift given only once, but he had come too late.

Someone else had already soaked those pale fingers in carmine.

Sapphire eyes shot open. At once, it all came rushing back. The fear, the disgust, the intensity, everything he had fought and struggled to forget…now undone. The memories had always been faint, as if he were viewing them through a screen of rice paper, the faces blurred by time, the voices muffled by white noise. But now, it was as if he had punctured a hole in the membrane, and the sharp clarity of it all assaulted him like rotted air from a long-untouched attic.

"You're—!" Grimmjow paused to take in the sight, to scrutinize the number, only this time with a fiery familiarity. He hadn't known that there had been others like him, even at the time, hadn't known that Ulquiorra had been privy to the same tribulations. If only he had…

It was such an angular, trying number, with forceful, resilient lines and ruthless, callous slants, stapled in intrepid black, a stark contrast to the snowy skin around it, and a disproportionate challenge to his own circular, pliable numeral, possessing a morbid flexibility to which he had grown fond.

"…You remember."

It is not a question.

Sapphire eyes fell away from their tête-à-tête. "…The cult, the runs, the keeper…yeah."

"…"

They are silent, and for once, it is enough.

Something between them thickens, and Ulquiorra is momentarily jolted to the red thread theory—a particular notion he had scorned as fantastical and impractical, now appearing justified and fully plausible. Grimmjow has stilled, the fingers of one hand lingering against the fabric of his sleeve, a feeling so ghostly and barely there, yet a feeling Ulquiorra still finds comfort in. His skin crawls under the faint wash of Grimmjow's breath, but it is not a repulsed tingling, rather a contented one.

He has bared his breast to Grimmjow—both literally and metaphorically. His mark of shame is, after all, placed over his heart. Never has he found the feeling of trusting another so soothing…

Ulquiorra is just about to lean forward, to fall into the viscous, peppery aura that is just _Grimmjow_, just a fellow soul, when said mortal shatters the mood.

"Then…why couldn't I see it before?"

The honey-tinted melancholia they had crescendoed up to splintered into panes of amber at their feet.

This was the way Grimmjow was structured, Ulquiorra comforted himself, determined not to be mad. He was not made for sentimental moments, could not be expected to sit still for emotional confrontations. …Very much like himself, in fact. Ulquiorra mentally scoffed. How could he expect of another what he could not himself accomplish? Such a fool…

"Ulquiorra." The first usage of his full name snapped him to attention. He impulsively opened his mouth to let Grimmjow know that he appreciated being addressed properly, but found that he could not: he missed the familiarity of the annoying monikers, and at least the presence of those would lighten this situation, show him that Grimmjow could be untouchable if he so wished.

"Yes?"

"…If…if you…and I…" His eyes gravitated to the mark, so hard and unrelenting against pale skin.

"Yes, Grimmjow," his eyes softened. "We were both."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I assumed you knew."

"That first day we met…you didn't say anything."

"I thought you remembered. It was the only reason I bothered with you." Grimmjow really had no inkling of how much happiness he had brought into Ulquiorra's life at the time as an equal sufferer who _knew_ why Ulquiorra had such a front, had he? Looking back…was it all just wishful thinking on Ulquiorra's part?

"Kurosaki introduced us, I just put you down as the manners type," Grimmjow confessed, finding himself ashamed of something he couldn't understand.

"…"

"…And why didn't I see it before? We went swimming a while back and it wasn't there." He didn't want to dwell on his shortcomings, especially with how they had seemed to hurt impervious Ulquiorra.

It felt nothing like he had dreamed, breaching that ironclad fortress.

"I'm not like you, Grimmjow, I don't enjoy flaunting my mistakes. It's coverup."

Grimmjow appeared taken aback. "Makeup."

"…Actors wear it as well."

"Wouldn't it wash off? Even the stay-on crap won't take much."

"I use waterproof bandages and coloring first before applying coverup. As long as no one looks closely, it's fairly convincing."

Grimmjow took in the information, a look of contemplation on his face as if he were actually considering the methods. "…I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. Yer such a girl, _Dollface_."

Ulquiorra recalled why he so disliked (and liked) Grimmjow, gaucheness aside. Which made him remember that he did not want Grimmjow in his home. Which brought him to the fact that Grimmjow _was_ in his home. Which reminded him that he was _still_ wet and _still_ sticky and needed to bathe, but couldn't, because there still remained that same problem: Grimmjow.

The other was really like a cat, uncannily so. If you showered him with expectant attention, he'd always manage to break your optimism, wandering off and blatantly ignoring you. But if you left him alone to attend to your own devices, he'd always butt in. Just like that annoying feline that wandered through Kurosaki's house at random intervals: it always knew when you were tired and about to sit down and flash—it would be right _there_, claiming the spot as its own nanoseconds before you. Nothing is as appealing as the forbidden.

But that had an easy solution.

You just had to toss the birdie the other way first.

"Grimmjow, have you ever owned a cat?" Let it never be said that Ulquiorra couldn't be random.

"Huh, yeah actu—hey!‼"

Ulquiorra easily slipped into the bathtub and twisted the water on, an insane idea in mind. There was no chance he could physically wrestle Grimmjow away out of the bathroom to have a proper shower, but the least he could do would be to wash the gunk off his skin. Even if it meant he was going to soak all of his clothing, he would be clean.

The showerhead gave a short screech before the liberating fluid finally sprayed down. Ulquiorra quickly mussed his fingers into his hair, rinsing speedily downward as clumps of stuck-together strands separated. The feeling of stickiness gradually peeled away from—

Grimmjow tackled him.

Somehow, even though he should have been expecting the ambush, Ulquiorra lost his footing and knocked into the mint-toned tiles of the shower somewhat painfully.

"Grimmjow—,"

"That was cheap!" Grimmjow raged, playfully furious. "Feed me some sappy crap and jump in the shower…! This isn't over, yer not winnin'!"

Ulquiorra's brow knotted slightly at the 'sappy crap' comment. "This isn't a game—,"

"Then get—," Grimmjow's breathing slowed.

When—when had Ulquiorra's skin become so _glossy_? It glinted in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom lights, glazed by water. His skin had always been deathly pale, and Grimmjow had unrelentingly teased him for it…but now, it looked like pure alabaster, sheen made lustrous by the layer of wet coating it. If not for the dark raven color of his hair, painted with shadowy slivers of dappled color, Ulquiorra could very well have passed as a marble sculpture in some lofty museum, having been painstakingly rendered by the long-dead hand of an illustrious master, swallowed to obscurity by the bowels of time, his well-loved magnum opus the only touch of his person left on the material world.

"…Grimmjow?"

His breaths halted altogether. That snowy expanse glowed with a sense of marble-esque, impervious antiqueness, but it was at the same time spring-fresh, supple, and _just__ begging_ _to__ be__ touched._

Who was he to deny?

~_After __You, __I__ Insist_~

A/N: showertiem begins finally!  
>And so many reviews for last chapter, OwO u spoil me! Thanks lots to all my lovelies ilu! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations, my focus mostly shifted to my artwork so my writing is a bit meh.<p>

I must've rewritten this chp 3x, I was so unsure where I was going. I'm not used to writing lighthearted things for this pairing, and my narration constantly started veering dark, so sry if it feels disjointed. And it still ended up much darker than I wanted (promise I'm dropping the weird past thing). It doesn't help that I write at 2 am. Questions? Complaints? please review! Next chapter's started, reviews will give me wings! Pritti please?


	3. Skeletons

Title: _You__ Take __It __Off__ First  
>Author<em>: Ephemeral Rainfall  
><em>Summary<em>: In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
>Rating: T<br>_A/N:_ Just a heads up, not-funny humor is back. We'll round up and get away from that nasty thing last chapter. And no more clothing is shed, sadly, because I did promise that they were going to keep their clothes in the shower. The title will come in later ;)  
>Sorry for the late update, school and procrastination devoured my life D:<p>

~_What __Am __I, __Canned__ Catfood?_~

The look in Grimmjow's eyes was terrifying.

Coming from Ulquiorra, who had faced the business ends of a dozen guns without so much as twitching, this was unheard of.

It was as if he were no longer human…not even something _alive_, with a beating heart and racing mind. Never had this bothered him before, but the look was so…personal.

He had seen the very same look in Kurosaki's stray, the same pointed, keening hunger just before it pounced upon an unsuspecting mouse. Harboring a rare, muted respect for cats, Ulquiorra had silently praised the predator for its deadly efficiency, innately thanking fate that he had not been born a lowly rat.

Now, he retracts that statement. What difference did it make if he were small and gray or not if he were treated to the same dehumanized judgment?

"Grimmjow," he started, eager to escape the scrutiny, "could you step back?" As it was, his exposed chest was nearly pressed to the other's clothed pectorals, the icy spray from the showerhead like pellets of hail beating at the two of them. It was all he could do to refrain from shivering, and the intensity of the other's gaze was no help in lightening his struggle.

It struck him distantly that the contours of his body seemed to oddly correlate to Grimmjow's, almost familiar, as if once they had both formed a whole…an object jarred to the ground by a heedless passerby, whereupon it had bifurcated into two individual entities who each at once denied the existence of the other. He had little desire to be glued back beside Grimmjow.

"Hey," he pressed again, squirming slightly, "get off."

No response. "…Grimmjow?"

Suddenly, as if some thin strand of control had snapped, there was a hand against his neck, the other sliding down his uncovered front in a trail of electricity. An alien hotness latched to his throat, something slicking and warping to the flesh of his gullet.

With a distant panic, Ulquiorra shoved brusquely away. The mouth and hands left his neck.

The sensation evaporated and his breath returned. "What's gotten into you?" Grimmjow seemed equally as dazed, having fallen on his backside, palms splayed out behind him. He didn't reply.

Ulquiorra bit his lip. Violence seemed to become an indispensable tendency around the other. His other companions would barely recognize him now, breaths heavy as he dipped his knees to examine Grimmjow, fists still tightly clenched and veins quivering with adrenaline.

That was too close. Way too close.

"Grimmjow? What happened?" Grimmjow had long since threatened him…but never had he actually taken it seriously. Why now? Why would he choose now to prey on Ulquiorra? His weakness had only ever been empathy, and Grimmjow had known for just as long.

His only answer was a disappointed sigh.

"Why?" Ulquiorra puffed, daunted but not deterred by the withering sound.

Aquamarine eyes slid up to him, disgruntled in the ruined peace of the moment.

"Goddamn, I can't believe I forgot all this shit—,"

"Leave it."

"Fuck you! It happened already, fucking face it!"

"If it did, so be it."

They might have once been one, but not anymore. If Ulquiorra were to liken them to anything, he would choose a starfish—they had once contracted empathy, genuine understanding for one another. Somewhere in the race of life, however, they had been split into two, although if asked, Ulquiorra would find it harder to indicate which of them had been the dismembered arm, and which the disfigured body. As time and wear began to distance them, both had grown separately, proceeding to pick up the pieces and forget it all—the body birthed an arm, the arm formed a body. Neither was the same, and neither would ever be.

"What we had is dead. Stop trying to bring it back."

Grimmjow was silent, but Ulquiorra knew better than to celebrate an early victory. Sure enough, the pause was broken. "You idiot." It was soft but spoken, and even Ulquiorra had to strain to discern the words before they evaporated forever.

"…Am I the idiot…"

Grimmjow snorted. "You wouldn't know it."

"You can't expect—,"

"What did I ever expect from you?"

Ulquiorra hesitated to answer. "…Nothing."

"And what did you expect from me?"

"…"

"Answer me."

"…Everything."

Grimmjow didn't smile. "Can't I want something then? I can't do this. This giving thing."

"Stop it. Can we just—,"

"There's no such thing as moving on, Ulquiorra. It's only moving over. If you don't jump, you're never gonna get anywhere. Who the hell cares if you fall?"

"Not you."

"And who told me I shouldn't?"

"Me."

"Then why do you care? I thought you lived with no regrets."

"I…"

"Just left me have this, Ulquiorra. If you brought me back for one thing, ya brought me back for everything."

…Pandora's Box. To have his hope, he had sprung the other demons free as well. Too late Ulquiorra realized that he had triggered a floodgate. He had shattered Grimmjow's perfect illusion, and it was only fair that he compensate…

He didn't want to compensate. Not like this.

Grimmjow saw the discomfort in his eyes.

And like a true idiot, he brought it up in the most awkwardly-worded, strangely-toned sentence ever.

"Yer not into that?"

Ulquiorra turned scarlet. "What? No! How'd you come to that?"

"Crap—yer really not?" he spluttered, and it was difficult to determine whether he was serious.

Ulquiorra stood back up instantly, as if scalded, eyes mortified. "Grimmjow!"

"I can't believe this shit—,"

"I'm not!"

"Like hell yer not! You're always hangin' out with all those girls—,"

"What does that—,"

"You're awful close with Kurosaki,"

"This is coming from _you_?"

"You also—,"

"Grimmjow, shut up."

Grimmjow idly swung a hand up toward Ulquiorra's wrist, not so much wanting to be pulled up as just making the gesture.

Ulquiorra instinctively moved away.

Grimmjow's face fell. Carefully, he got up on his own with ease, and then he lunged.

The shorter of the two attempted to avoid the violent motion, only to slip thanks to the ungodly amount of water they had waxed his floor with. With an undignified squeak that he would come to deny later, the dark-haired boy bumped against on the hard porcelain and fell into Grimmjow's sturdy, inhumanly _sharp_ shins.

"Then, explain why," the taller ticked off, squatting and fisting into soaked fabric as Ulquiorra endeavored to get up, "you wear _eyeliner_."

Ulquiorra stopped struggling to glare. "I wear what?"

"Makeup," Grimmjow smugly listed, reaching to run his thumb along the suspicioned area. Ulquiorra twitched as the rough thumb landed at the corner of his eye and traced along the tips of his eyelashes, then along the edges of his eyelids, making him half-blink.

Grimmjow removed his oddly spotless finger, then squinted and got in closer. "Oh…that's…_real_?"

Ulquiorra shoved him back. "I do _not_ wear eyeliner."

A palm landed abruptly on his cheek and began wiping roughly at his skin. "Jaegerjacques! Stop!"

"So ya don't wear eyeliner…ya gotta be wearin' foundation, no one has skin like that naturally," came the dazed reply, lacking the usual mocking bite accompanying all words from that cretin.

Somewhat troubled, Ulquiorra didn't make a noise as he levered the intrusive hand off his face, letting Grimmjow see that he had done nothing but turn Ulquiorra's skin pink. Grimmjow paused momentarily, glancing at his palms, covered in nothing but invisible skin cells.

"Are you quite satisfied?"

"Not nearly." And before Ulquiorra could reply, there were two hands on his face, firmly braising his cheekbones.

"D—," Grimmjow silenced him with a finger against his mouth.

Ulquiorra was indignant for a brief moment, muscles on edge to resist, only to soften heartbeats later, eyes sliding shut at the balmy warmth that licked across his cheeks like docile wildfire.

It was so warm…drowsily so. The rough feeling of Grimmjow's blistered finger against the broken skin of his lips was disconcertingly _right_…the gesture of being silenced for once, not needing to say so much, as was his tendency around Grimmjow…

Nothing could stop this impasse.

_Bllllbllblllll bbllllbllbbllblbll blbllllblbbb blblbllb bbbllllblbbbl _

Confound it.

Escaping the turmoil-peace of the bathroom, Ulquiorra dripped a trail of wet as he traced the sound to the living room, snatching his cellphone off of the counter and silencing his _Flight__ of__ the __Bumblebee_ ringtone.

"Hello?"

…

Grimmjow trailed in three minutes later at leisure, seeming to have completely refreshed his composure. Ulquiorra had counted the seconds. He was perched on the single barstool, forming a puddle on the floor as he wrote on a notepad, cellphone to his ear, eyes on the clock.

Briefly, he hung up and glanced offhandedly at Grimmjow, who physically shrugged off the accusatory look. "Bumblebee?" he asked nonchalantly.

Taken aback, Ulquiorra nodded. "Surprising, you know this song?"

"Just cuz I don't have a sissy major doesn't mean I can't enjoy good music."

"There is a distinct threshold between knowing basic sound and enjoying genuine music. Even fruit flies can—,"

"Don't lecture me on that when you put that as yer ringtone just to annoy people. Think I can't tell?"

Ulquiorra resisted the urge to sigh, moving to chide Grimmjow, only to find that that would make him a liar and a hypocrite. "…It is a challenging and inspiring piece," he settled.

"Translation: it's hard to listen to and gets old real soon."

"It takes taste to appreciate difficult music."

"Maybe I just know ya better than you wanna admit."

"Be quiet."

"Fine, fine, I'll _buzz_ off." Laughing his head off at his terribly clever wisecrack, Grimmjow made his way to Ulquiorra's stool to sling an arm around his shoulders, foiled when Ulquiorra hopped off his seat. That only made him laugh harder.

Ulquiorra failed to find it funny, especially with a half-buttoned, see-through shirt glued to his body and an equally wet man dying of ululation on his chair. Who also had a not-buttoned, transparent shirt slicked to him.

"Grimmjow. Recognizing one slightly more cultured tune does not give you free reign to laugh like a sociopath."

"At least I have social skills, hermit-boy."

"…" Ulquiorra temporarily rejoiced that something had been forgotten—

"Doll-faced hermit-boy," Grimmjow sing-songed, correcting himself, and waited for his cue.

He got a legal pad to the forehead.

…

After driving the still-in-convulsions Grimmjow into the living room couch with pillow and clean sheets in hand, Ulquiorra peeled his soaked clothing from his skin, blearily laying them over a chair. He clumsily pulled a long nightshirt over his head, slipping into a pair of clean boxers.

Utterly drained, Ulquiorra fell into his bed and was asleep within seconds, in a dreamless state of blissful nothingness.

~ _Why__ Are__ You__—__So__—__Shy!_ ~

A/N: Closing italics (wats it called?)…if anybody's heard the Ranma ½ ending theme where all the girls are singing…if u don't know what I'm talking about, plz ignore.  
>yeah, I did it again. Don't u hate me? Still so velli solli about update, skool EETS SOULS OMGISH.<br>It's a bit slow, but don't rush me, okay!  
>REVIEW and u shall get! More reviews = faster update, promise, cuz I'm actually done with next chp ;) However, some more <em>incidents<em> may happen, depending on what u guys like. Starting with Ulqui's big surprise. And it will b up in a week if the reviews (and my beta) will it!

GAH Y R MY ITALICS ALL WEIRD

This chapter is dedicated to a special person whose very presence guilted me into updating (becus u win as much as this chapter fails): LUL ILU.

Note to beta: :o sry this was kinda last-minute. If u could look at it now, u will b all of the 5 most captivating images of my life!


	4. Chivalry Ain't THAT Dead

Title: _You__Take__It__Off__First  
>Author<em>: Ephemeral Rainfall  
><em>Brief:<em> In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
><em>AN:_ Discovered music does NOT help me concentrate. Doesn't help either when the song is "I am a Banana" on infinite replay. Lulz. Read on. If u find the word banana somewhere in there, u'll know what I was thinking.  
>I sry for week late update. Beta and I had busy busy busy. ENGRISH, Y U NO MOAR EASY? <p>

_~Chivalry Ain't Dead~_

Mellow sunlight pilfered into the small room, gifting limelight unto audacious troupes of dust motes as it lambently crept along surfaces, rendering everything within its softening touch into a faded, whimsical memory to the beholder.

Juniper eyes fluttered open reluctantly, hesitantly peeking through charcoal lashes. The rich gold light spilled anxiously into the newly unveiled accommodations, and their owner blinked in tolerant irritation as his optics adjusted to the change in illumination.

Sensations began to creep to his sleep-muddled brain, meticulously careful in their indolent lines, one after another. He registered the feathery embrace of his comforter against his bare skin, pulled just to his shoulders, soft fibers that brushed his skin with tenderness whenever he shifted. His cheek was cushioned into the downy, supple texture of his pillow, and the blank scent of himself danced reassuringly through the fabric.

His feet rested one behind the other, his body turned on its side, and when his toes shifted, the smooth altering of cloth that enfolded them brought a homey freshness that began in his feet and traveled upwards to rejuvenate his entire body.

Ulquiorra loved waking up, the feel of every minute detail as it clarified into reality, sharpening itself distinctly from the musty quality held by fleeting dreams.

This morning, especially, since the window was propped open just so, and the crisp autumn morning breeze provided a deliberating chill that made the warmness fanned against his back all the more inviting.

Drowsily, Ulquiorra shifted back into the amorous heat that enfolded him, only then noting a foreign weight draped fittingly along the curve of his waist. It was solid and heavy, but comfortingly so.

Ulquiorra instantly sobered, afraid to move. A…weight?

His fears were confirmed as a hot puff of air skimmed the top of his ear, and suddenly the alluring tenderness repelled him horrendously. With a mute shriek, Ulquiorra violently wrenched himself out of the covers backfirst onto the floor, a baby blue pillow and much of the duvet accompanying his trip.

The disturbing warmness leaned up groggily, just barely levering himself on his elbow. "T'…much noise. G'back…sleep."

"Grimmjow! W-what're you doing here?"

"Couch…t'small. Yer scrawny ass…too small…can't fit…" the half asleep male shifted awkwardly, posture still bent _around_ the spot where Ulquiorra had occupied, (as if they had been…he was not going to think about it. No.), the arm that had so impolitely wakened him softly trying to find its absent resting place.

The butchered sentence may have sounded fine to Grimmjow's sleep-addled mind (if there was any difference since the idiot probably thought in that trashy way at all times), but it brought a disconcerting, hot flush to Ulquiorra's face, and as to why he did not want to specify.

_Snore._

"…"

It was Grimmjow's fault.

It always is.

…After all, idiocy is contagious.

…

Dressed and sitting in the kitchen, sipping a glass of cool water to clear his head, Ulquiorra realized why he felt so off this morning.

It was because it was not morning.

It was 12:58 p.m.

…Bloody hell.

…Thank goodness he didn't have class today.

…Should he go wake Grimmjow? He didn't deserve to sleep in, not after what he did. But that would be far too awkward, especially with how he was _in__his__bed_, what with what had transpired late last night and all. But then again—

His musings were promptly ended by the source. "'Mornin'."

"…Good afternoon."

That conversation quickly died.

"…" Ulquiorra didn't know what to say, he was usually accustomed and comfortable with long silences, but he did not want to let this thinking space go on, afraid that Grimmjow was stewing in his rather ungraceful blunder earlier.

And Grimmjow, of course, was no help either. Mollified by the 'newness' of the day, he shuffled into the living room and sat at the table, eyes glazed and half-mast the entire time. His hair was a tangled mess (nothing out of the norm), his dark red tank was rumpled beyond saving (complete with offensive slogan), his jean jacket-vest was sliding off one shoulder (it looked obscenely heavy with all that metal), and his destructed jeans had gaping holes, frayed to the point of indecency (also as per usual).

It occurred to Ulquiorra to maybe wonder why Grimmjow had a complete set of clothing on hand, but he certainly didn't want to raise complaints or to plant unwelcome ideas into the delinquent's walnut-sized brain, so he didn't.

…He did look good in dark red, oddly enough. Even though it was probably difficult to pull off with that bright blue mop, this shirt did it well. Maybe it was just the dark-washed vest, though, that did the trick, making sure the cerulean blue and deep maroon wouldn't cause conniptions. It was almost like the skyline of—

SHUT. UP. SELF.

Who was he to examine someone else's wardrobe? His own consisted of a dark quarter-sleeve and jeans. No room to criticize. And it was _Grimmjow_. Enough said.

No seriously. SHUT UP.

Ulquiorra unpinned his eyes from the rather profane motto and cleared his throat, startling a half-asleep Grimmjow, who had been steadily falling unconscious into the tablecloth.

"…"

"…"

Too late the shorter realized that he didn't want the attention he just garnered. He had been planning to ask what the other would like for brunch (even if it was Grimmjow, his infallible etiquette reared up), but it was _Grimmjow_. He could either make his own food or starve. Ulquiorra was being nice enough to lend him raw materials; there was no need to extend his generosity. Besides, this was payback for the unwelcome addition to his bedclothes that had effectively awakened him with a heart attack.

Revelation in mind, Ulquiorra began to move about the kitchen to cobble together something edible, noting with a small degree of satisfaction that he still had the attention of a pair of droopy sapphires.

"I wan' eggs. Scrambled. An' bacon."

Apparently not droopy enough. "Make your own food."

"No. I'm yer guest."

Not this conversation again. "Then you're free to starve."

"Okay. It'll be like a hunger strike."

Failing to see what Grimmjow had to strike about (he was being given free food and shelter, plenty more than he deserved), Ulquiorra rolled his eyes. Physically. Hey, he was exhausted. Not having his waking ritual hurt, and the mock jet lag Grimmjow had inflicted on him wasn't helping.

Opening the refrigerator (completely of his own will), Ulquiorra happened to look to his carton of eggs and was pleased to find that the five still left were conveniently set to expire. Today. And there was no flour to bake them into a cake to delay their urgency.

…Screw you too, Karma.

NOT in ANY way accepting of Grimmjow's demands, the dark-haired male extracted the carton of evil chicken by-product and slammed the refrigerator. Subtly, though, because he was not Grimmjow.

Walking to the counter, he cracked all five eggs (no, he was not going to be wasteful like Grimmjow) into a bowl and began to whisk them, adding in a bit of onion and salt among other things.

Grimmjow smirked sleepily behind him.

What he wouldn't give to hurt that idiot.

Beating somewhat aggressively at the foaminess, Ulquiorra decided to relocate himself over the sink, since he wasn't about to make more of a mess on his counter than he already had. Deciding that the concoction needed paprika (fresh out of pepper), he left his station to reach for the cupboard, only to turn back to find the blue-headed imbecile upending a mass of shredded cheese into the eggs. He hadn't even heard the refrigerator open.

Dusting off the grater over the mixture, Grimmjow treated him to a smirk as he proceeded to stir the cheese in and leave. Idiot. If he thought he was doing his share, he was an idiot. Not that that was news. Ulquiorra set down his paprika and came over to stare into the mix, now looking like a white clump of land flooded with a runny yellow substance. How very appetizing.

Balancing out the thickness with water and extracting some of the cheese to at least make some attempt to save the mixture, Ulquiorra wordlessly heated the skillet and created the disgusting (he preferred his lactose in moderation, thank you very much) masses of cheese pancake.

Grimmjow surprisingly made no comment the entire time, not even when Ulquiorra donned his generic white apron with a not-as-generic blue cross. (Okay, fine, there was a _little_ lace border too, but it had been a gift from Ishida Uryu, someone who he actually respected, sewing quirks aside, and enjoyed the company of. Again, Ulquiorra was not one to waste.)

Just a little bit alarmed—but not at all concerned—at the lack of inappropriate remarks regarding his apron, the shorter student snuck a glance over his shoulder at the disturbingly quiet situation, finding that the source of silence had come from the fact that Grimmjow had completed his descent into a comatose nirvana. He had even set the table. Ulquiorra gingerly wandered over to look, cooking abandoned over curiosity. He did not want to seem creepy, but watching people slumber was…enlightening, for lack of better description. Their toughest miens were stripped away, and subtle nuances always surfaced.

The first thing he saw was the puddle of drool. Ew, people _ate_ on that tablecloth. That was as far as he got, because then the softly snoring form sat up.

"Nice dress, Dollface. Frills really suit you."

"It's an apron, you dolt." Ulquiorra wanted to insult him back, but now was not the time since 1. His food was going to burn and 2. He couldn't think of a comeback.

"Sure, deny all ya want if it makes ya feel better. I gotta say blue's yer color," his unwelcome houseguest commented, having the nerve to do so as Ulquiorra walked back over, hot skillet in hand. "Brings out yer eyes." The prospect of showing him exactly _how_ hot it was became very tempting, but he exercised the self-restraint that seemed to be generally lacking in his home today.

Grimmjow belatedly realized something as Ulquiorra woodenly placed a perfectly folded omelet onto his plate. "Hey, this isn't scrambled eggs."

Twitch.

Ulquiorra closed his eyes and inhaled. "Be grateful I bothered to make you anything."

"Aww, Dollface, I knew ya loved me too much to let me starve."

Maybe it would have been a better idea to throw the raw eggs at Grimmjow. The cleanup afterwards would be hell for his poor floor, but it would have been worth it.

He spooned the other omelet onto his own plate and walked to the toaster, putting a single slice of bread in. Ha, Karma, you can't win at everything.

Grimmjow nonchalantly took a bite of his omelet (he was being unusually adroit with a knife and fork), then got up and pulled open the refrigerator, bending down and sticking his head in. He didn't need to do that, but Ulquiorra noticed that he was resting his hands on the shelves, probably still exhausted. The maroon shirt rode up just a bit higher, showing off a bit of navy underwear above his jeans (darn it, he had half expected some sort of kitten or fish print), and above that a…a strip of sun-brushed skin. To the right, there was the slightest hint of black under his shirt, where the 6 tattoo was, set against honey-toned…

He _really_ didn't need to do that. Why was he—

Ulquiorra snapped his eyes away from Grimmjow immediately and focused on his toast. …If it could still be called that. Blasted toasting oven, conspiring away as his back was turned. Ulquiorra fished out his smoldering bread, cursing the device to hell and back and then to hell again, because malicious cooking things like that should stay down there.

The smell of burned food reached Grimmjow, and he looked over to Ulquiorra's plate of charcoal. "…Oi…I think you're supposed to take it out before it turns black."

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes, instantly on the defensive. "I happen to like my toast dark," he shot back evenly. If he had his carcinogens plentiful, he _wanted_ his cancer-giving agents plentiful, damnit.

"…Okay. I'm gonna make some more cuz I ain't really one for a nice heaping pile of cancer-causing crap in the morning; ya wanna try some _light_ toast?"

Ulquiorra was sure Grimmjow was poking fun at him, but since there were no obscene smirks or mischievous eye movements, he couldn't call him out.

Honestly, it wasn't like Grimmjow would be that much better than Ulquiorra at tanning bread anyway. It's _Grimmjow._

"…I'll take that as a 'Sure, trash'," Grimmjow added, reminding Ulquiorra that he hadn't answered. He watched as four slices of white bread were piled sloppily onto the rack and shoved ungraciously into the small conventional oven. Yup, he was sure of it now. There was no way Grimmjow wouldn't burn them, especially with how powerful his toaster oven was, not even having a dial to hint of its true wicked might.

…Any minute now, that toast would suddenly turn black. It was like magic, that contraption.

…His own oven must have had an agenda against him. It would be really pathetic if that brutish moron had bested him at not burning bread.

Turn black turn black turn black turn black turn black.

…Why wasn't it turning black? Ulquiorra had had it in for a shorter time and it had become an unrecognizable mound of tar-impersonation.

…

Grimmjow cheerfully removed the rack of four slices of honey-toned breakfast food from the machine, fully aware of the pair of disgruntled green eyes glued to his movements.

So he had been defeated in toasting. Whatever.

On the bright side, Ulquiorra could now have his revenge. "I had no idea you were so good at making toast, Grimmjow," he panned snidely. It wasn't that different from his usual monotone, but Grimmjow should've been able to discern the intention.

If the blue-haired lout had any objections to the jibe at his masculinity, he gave no sign. "Thanks." He neatly arranged the four golden pieces on a plate and unscrewed a jar of blackberry jam he had pilfered from the fridge as if he owned the place.

"…" That was not meant to be a compliment. Ulquiorra decided that maybe this damaging manly pride thing was harder than it looked. Grimmjow usually made it look so simple. He tried again. "And the way you spread the jam onto the bread is so…"

Ulquiorra shut up.

What. The. Bloody. Hell. Was that?

Honestly, he usually thought before he spoke. In his defense, it had sounded perfectly legit in his brain. It was probably the rude awakening he had had this morning, ruining his favorite moment of the day, which made him spout such awkward things. Yes.

Grimmjow definitely picked up on this one.

Dropping the knife back into the jar, (that really irked Ulquiorra, the utensil was liable to tip out over the edge and send globs of sticky spread flying at any given moment with the way it was tilted over the lip of the container), the taller male turned around, said jam-spread-bread in hand. Plate. Same difference.

He set the plate onto the table and leaned in close. Too close. Ulquiorra stood his ground nonetheless, utterly forgetting that that was what had lead to _the__thing_ last night. Morning. Gah.

A hand on his forehead interrupted his troubles, and Ulquiorra was surprised to find that the skin was pleasantly cool, unlike last night—

(Morning.)

Unlike last _time_ which he did not want to think about right now.

"Are ya feelin' okay? That was weird, even for you." The concern soon petered out of his voice. "Or were ya just tryna be _provocative_?"

That was not right.

The way the cretin slurred the word so _twisted-ly_. (Ulquiorra was impressed that he even knew how to use that word.)

Not the way he had implied Ulquiorra was joining in his perversion. Well actually, that too.

Gah, why was he so distracted today?

Ducking away from that sinfully chill touch, Ulquiorra glowered. "Do not touch me." This was far too reminiscent of the incident of last time.

Grimmjow seemed to get the hint, much to the relief of the other, and shrugged, sliding two slices of spread toast onto Ulquiorra's plate and taking a seat opposite.

~_Whatever__You__Say_~

A/N: Sry for cutting into a scene, but it's getting long. Next chapter: we find out exactly what Grimmjow was saying about Ulquiorra's backend being too small and not fitting XD And then they might go shopping.

…

Note2: Well, I usually update on a Saturday, but I'm really upset rite now and want some reassurance that I don't fail at life.


	5. Striptease, Please?

Title: _You Take It Off First  
>Author<em>: Ephemeral Rainfall  
><em>Brief:<em> In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
><em> AN:_ I'm actually in need of a beta. My current one is busy to death (which begs the question y I still find time to do this [cough sleep is overrated cough]) and I don't want to bother her anymore, so…anybody willing? I wil luv u.  
><em>Beta: Burning November<em>

~_The_ _Awkward Silence~_

_Grimmjow seemed to get the hint, much to the relief of the other, and shrugged, sliding two slices of spread toast onto Ulquiorra's plate and taking a seat opposite._

He didn't want to bring it up. Really, he didn't. But the curiosity was killing him.

"…Grimmjow…about…what you said this…morning…?" Curses. When had he ever lost his nerves saying something so simple? It was just plain curiosity, nothing else.

"Tch, I said a lotta things this morning, Dollface." He crammed the rest of the toast into his mouth, chewing loudly as he stabbed at the last bits of his omelet.

"What you said when," he easily fought down a flush, "you first awoke." Being around Grimmjow had had one positive effect, at least: experience had taught him how to control his facial coloring.

The answer came without a halt. "I said yer couch's too small. I can barely sit, never mind sleep in it, so I moved to your bed." He appeared nonplussed, taking a large bite of egg and _hmm_-ing in approval.

Well. Now Ulquiorra _really_ wanted to ask why his rear end was therefore included in the sentence, but he couldn't bring himself to openly give Grimmjow a reason to relentlessly harp on him for the rest of the week, so he didn't. Even though he was dying to know. But he didn't.

[Un]fortunately, Grimmjow saw his question. He swallowed his mouthful and chased it with a sizable gulp of juice.

"That part about your ass bein' scrawny was in reference to the couch," he added quickly, and Ulquiorra was relieved doubly both to know that the context wasn't perverse and the fact that Grimmjow too had lines he did not wish to cross. But then…how did Grimmjow remember so clearly? If he had truly just woken up, then he shouldn't have even remembered saying a thing…That left only one explanation: Grimmjow had already been—

Speak of the devil and he shall interrupt. "—Y'know, cuz you don't need a big chair to sit…because you…have…a…" as the explanation wore out its welcome, signified by the accumulating pink on both their faces, the taller student dropped it. "…Yeah…"

Ulquiorra aptly stared.

Grimmjow realized how girly he was being and forced the color in his face down, signature rakish smirk materializing once again. "Heh…that's sick of ya, Ulqui. If you wanna take it that way, I'd be happy to oblige—,"

"Be quiet, idiot."

And they were back in familiar waters. Ulquiorra did enjoy the feeling of splashing in the shallows.

…

After somehow forcing Grimmjow to do both sets of dishes, (Ulquiorra was still pondering the finer workings of exactly how he had accomplished this miracle among miracles), Ulquiorra decided he was going outside.

Grimmjow humbly disagreed.

"I'm just going to the store, Grimmjow. Let go."

"I'm coming with."

"No."

"It's just the store!"

"No."

"Why can't I go?"

"No."

"…Ya secretly a stripper or something? I knew—,"

"No."

"Do I hafta stuff some dollar bills down your pants first? Cuz I'm this close to sticking something down there."

"Grimmjow. Shut up."

"So I'm going."

"…Fine." But only because he didn't feel like arguing. "Now let go."

"What if I don't wanna?"

"…"

"_Ow._"

…

The convenience store wasn't that far away, so Ulquiorra decided to be a decent person and forego his bicycle to walk with his unwelcome houseguest. (A car, you say? Ha, he could barely muster up enough money to pay his monthly rent.)

It was an unfortunate mistake he discovered the hard way.

"Ulquiorra."

"What?"

"Ulquiorra."

"…"

"Ulqui_o_rra."

"Stop that."

"No."

"…"

"Ulquiorra."

"Why are you saying my name?"

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed with where their conversation was headed.

"D'ya want me to stop sayin' yer name?" It sounded almost like an honest concern, so Ulquiorra took a risk and nodded earnestly.

They made eye contact for a lengthy minute, and the expression on the blue-haired delinquent's face was so guileless that Ulquiorra dared to hope he'd actually get a moment of silence.

Not breaking the stare, Grimmjow grinned. "Ichigo."

Ulquiorra nearly groaned.

"Eh-_chi_-go." Cerulean eyes flickered in amusement, clearly probing for a reaction.

Ulquiorra stared back, but his weariness must have shown through, because Grimmjow proceeded with a renewed enthusiasm.

"Eh-chiiiiiiiiii-go."

"…"

Maybe this would have been more tolerable, had Grimmjow not become bored of using the same tone of voice.

"Eh_chiii_GO!" Before they were even halfway there, Grimmjow's pronunciations had turned nigh-scandalous, and many an odd bystander stopped to stare.

"EHchi_go_!" Grimmjow moaned, eyes scrunched shut to further the illusion.

"Grimmj—"

"_EEEH_CHIGO!"

"_Grimmjow—_"

"UNGH! Kurosaki _I_chi_go_!"

"GRIMMJOW. Stop."

"Hm, why?"

"People are staring."

Grimmjow quirked a smile. "Ya care?"

"…" No, but… "I could care less, but I cannot assume Kurosaki would feel the same."

"Oh," came the smug voice, "what, jealous?"

"Jealous of being embarrassed by you?"

Grimmjow ignored his comment and pretended that Ulquiorra had said something different. Slinging his hands behind his head, he looked down at his shorter companion from the corner of a lazy teal eye, face defiant. "Ulquio_rr_a."

Ulquiorra barely prevented himself from tripping over his own feet. Bloody hell. His name was _not_ meant to be _purred_. Especially not like _that_. Unbidden thoughts of last night already bombarding his head, Ulquiorra quickened his pace as he realized that he had slowed. He quashed the frog from his throat, and managed, "Say it properly or don't say it at all," keeping the waver from his voice.

"Idiot, don'tcha know that yer name's a little Spanish? Yer _supposed_ to roll the r… Ulquio_rr_a."

Of all the stupid people in the world, why was he stuck with the clever one?

Twenty more minutes of awkwardly listening to Grimmjow purr his name later, they got to the store. Finally. Ulquiorra did his best not to tear through the sliding doors.

…

"So. What are we buying?"

"Foodstuffs."

"Whoa, that's the first time I've heard you say 'stuff'. Do it again."

"'Foodstuffs' is a word."

"Now you're just making crap up to act smart." Grimmjow picked up a bag of goldfish crackers, amused by the pretty colors.

"I do not _act_ intelligent, I _am_ intelligent. _You_ are not stupid, you simply _act_ stupid." Ulquiorra removed the container from Grimmjow's hands. "That's just food coloring."

The cyan-eyed male rolled his eyes, pouting at the rainbow cookies with longing. "And you don't try to be annoying, ya just are."

"You'd be one to talk."

Grimmjow responded by wordlessly dumping an armload of chips into the basket.

Just as mechanically, Ulquiorra emptied the basket of the various brands of nacho in the western romance DVD bin. (Trash belonged with trash.) If one was going to indulge in trashy nutrition, one had at least to choose something chocolate-y.

"I like those." Grimmjow crossed his arms.

"I'm not purchasing those."

"_I'll _buy 'em."

Ulquiorra stared. "You didn't bring your wallet, I thought?"

The flash in Grimmjow's eyes told him that he obviously had, but the sky-headed annoyance firmly shook the bag of chips. "Pay for me then."

"No."

"…"

"Stop giving me that look."

"…If I hafta take another day of your health foodie ways, I'm gonna eat yer furniture."

Ulquiorra hardly considered cheesy egg omelet to be 'health foodie'. "I hardly have a healthy diet, Grimmjow."

With a cursory glance into the basket, the taller male snorted. "There's nothing ya got that's not green."

Ulquiorra could hardly find the problem with that. Green was a very pleasant color. He liked it. But Grimmjow was not going to get away thinking he had won. "Green is a very naturally abundant color."

"...Not to the point when yer whole basket's green."

Ulquiorra opened his mouth to refute, but upon looking down, realized he couldn't. Lettuce, grapes, bell peppers…even the bread was wrapped in eco-friendly spring-colored plastic.

"I'm not finished yet, Grimmjow. Eggs and milk are not green," Ulquiorra thought up quickly, more proud of winning the argument than he had a right to be.

"Green eggs and ham, Sam I ain't."

Ulquiorra didn't understand, but he figured it would probably be better not to ask. While Grimmjow's back was turned, he scurried off to finish his shopping without play-by-play narration and snide commentary about his lack of ability to reach higher shelves.

…

"Grimmjow."

Silence.

"Grimmjow, come out."

When no reply came, Ulquiorra resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I can see you behind the wind chime display."

With an overdone swagger, Grimmjow emerged from behind the garden décor, knocking up a marvelous cacophony as he did so. Ulquiorra temporarily regretted his words. Grimmjow's quiet and graceful side seemed to be wired with his stealth mode, and all of that was tied to one giant switch. If you turned one off, you turned them all off.

Grimmjow stopped directly in front of him, looking down derisively. "Oi."

Ulquiorra refused to crane his head up, and so was left to stare into Grimmjow's chest. His vest was wide open, and the flimsy shirt he sported underneath was made of such thin cotton that—

…The sound of a box of tampons landing into his basket hijacked, derailed, and detonated that train of thought.

"Stop trying to slip feminine hygiene products into my basket."

"But you'll _need _them, Ulqui!" Grimmjow burst into theatrics. "Can't have you bleeding all over my BMW's nice leather seats!"

"…You're not going to convince anyone, no matter how loudly you say it."

"But don't you shop here often? I'M SURE EVERYONE WANTS TO KNOW WHEN TO STEER CLEAR OF YOUR PMS-ING GIRLY ASS, Y'KNOW? CUZ SOME NIGHTS I'M JUST REAL BUSY AND DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOU—"

"Shut up or I will castrate you."

…

After struggling with Grimmjow over several of his attempts to pilfer inappropriate items into Ulquiorra's basket, they managed to make it to the checkout line.

And even then, the rather busty strawberry blonde working the cash register unearthed 5 packages of XXXL condoms and an array of small scented tubes that Ulquiorra didn't even know—or want to know—that the store carried. It worsened, when try as he might to make blatant that he_ did not want those items_ in the softest voice possible, the clerk looked quickly between the flustered customer in front of her and the smirking man behind him and instantly made a slew of faulty, untruthful, demeaning conclusions.

Then she had the nerve to _giggle _at them, muttering to herself that it was _too cute._

Ulquiorra wanted to hurt her.

To add insult on top of injury, when she was done bagging the items, she snidely chimed in, "Sir, did you find our selection _extensive_ enough?" She wasn't even talking to him, looking right over his head. It was at times like these that Ulquiorra found himself empathizing with Toshiro Hitsugaya, the prodigiously diminutive physics freshman, a bit more.

Grimmjow pulled a long-suffering expression and shook his head tragically. "Unfortunately, no. It's a tragic misfortune…society doesn't offer accommodations for those of us burdened with extraordinary endowment, (as my significant other here can attest to), not finding any protection suitable for my size, even a—_shit!_" Grimmjow interrupted his soliloquy to snag the lethal bottle of kiwi juice aimed at said unmentionables.

"Jaegerjacques. _Shut up._"

"Nah, it's fine, Hon!" the cashier chuckled, erroneously thinking that Ulquiorra had thrown a projectile at Grimmjow for her sake. "You two just made my day! Brings back memories."

"We're not—,"

"Your secret's _completely_ safe with me, Hon!"

"It's not—,"

"Nothing to be ashamed of!"

"…"

GAH.

Women.

And to make it worst, Ulquiorra felt himself jostled out of the way as Grimmjow leaned onto the counter, left elbow on the table and right hand in pocket in traditional douchebag pick-up artist form.

The cashier smiled and leaned forward as well.

Grimmjow opened his mouth. Ulquiorra had a feeling this would be the ultimate reason to regret ever taking Grimmjow shopping. "Open to a threesome sometime? Wanna give me your number?"

Ulquiorra felt the violent urge to maim rising.

The blonde smirked at him and retrieved a pen to scribble her phone onto Grimmjow's hand.

Breathe. This wasn't worth it.

Ulquiorra hurriedly gathered his groceries and made his way out of the door, not a look back, stepping into the irritating sunlight. The air was chill despite the brightness, and he subtly tugged his jacket closer to his body.

He disliked this kind of weather. Annoyingly sunny and numbingly cold. Opposites as those should not be paired together, as they were an obvious clash, forced together like a square peg through a round hole. It was warm, bordering hot, but as soon as the wind picked up, the freeze undid all the sun's handiwork, so one was blinded without the benefit of a decent temperature.

If Zephyr had to work, he should at least be kept from the perkiness of the light. Almost anything would have sufficed; Ulquiorra could definitely name a few key weather terms, least of which would be a slew of nice fat clouds to blot out that horrid sunlight. Even a violent thunderstorm would be better suited with cold wind.

…Was he really having a monologue about the weather?

Yes, it appeared so.

Really nothing to be ashamed of.

Weather was a perfectly valid subject.

"What's with you?" And apparently distracting enough that he hadn't even noticed that Grimmjow had caught up to him, hands slung slackly in his pockets as he craned his head sideways to look at Ulquiorra.

About time someone had the courtesy to address him directly.

But since Grimmjow was subconsciously looking downwards to make eye contact, the implied jibe about his height struck a nerve; Ulquiorra didn't dignify him with a response.

"Silent treatment? Really?" Cyan orbs rolled to the sky, only to quickly blink away, cursing the shininess of the sunlight. At least they seemed to agree on something.

As Ulquiorra continued walking, Grimmjow had his answer.

"Tch…What are you, five?"

Hypocrite.

"I get it. You're jealous."

Again? Of all the ridiculous things. "Of you?" Preposterous.

Grimmjow's lip twisted slightly, and Ulquiorra's eyebrow twitched incredulously. "Of _her_?"

Grimmjow nodded. "Don't be absurd," Ulquiorra scoffed.

"Ya tell me off every chance ya get for runnin' my mouth, but when I leave ya alone, you storm off?" Grimmjow didn't mean to sound so critical, but he realized there was little room to maneuver his words otherwise.

"I did not _storm_ off. I simply did not want to waste time with idle chatter."

Grimmjow didn't swallow it. "What if I just wanted a break from the "No-man"?"

Ulquiorra was almost insulted. He was not…whatever that was.

"B'sides, Blondie had some advice for _you_."

The shorter student hardly cared to hear it.

"Says yer a real trooper and all. But sometimes ya need to know when to stop," Grimmjow quoted cryptically. Ulquiorra's feet slowed against his will. Maybe…

"…Grimmjow, you do know who she is, right?"

"Nah."

"She goes to the university. Rangiku Matsumoto? Working toward her Master's in interior design?" Ulquiorra listed, watching incredulously as Grimmjow shook his head to each piece of information.

"…Nope, doesn't ring a bell. How'd I not hear about her, with knockers like that?" he asked rhetorically, scratching his head.

"She's involved with Gin Ichimaru, Grimmjow." It was oddly satisfying to watch Grimmjow deflate.

"Fox-face, for real?" He didn't like Gin, but then again, not many could truthfully say the opposite. "Shit, ya serious?"

Ulquiorra frowned. "There's no reason not to be." He did not mind Ichimaru as much as Grimmjow, but perhaps that was because they usually gave each other a decent berth, unlike the touchy-feely relationship between Ichimaru and the blue-haired male.

"Aw dangit."

"Why, disappointed?" Ulquiorra couldn't help but tease.

"…I gave her my phone number."

Now Ichimaru was going to harass him nonstop. Ulquiorra couldn't stop the smirk on his face.

"…And yours too, cuz my phone's in my apartment."

The tiny smirk shriveled into nothing.

…

They got home at 4, having wasted two hours at the store and another in transit.

Grimmjow promptly dropped onto the small couch, arm over his eyes. The sudden motion caused both of Ulquiorra's dark cushions to leap to freedom, one managing to fling itself up and backwards into the blinds. Grimmjow cursed when the other pillow bowled across the coffee table and cleared the one-story card tower he had spent the better part of noon building.

Such gracefulness.

Ulquiorra put away the groceries (complete with non-green eggs, milk, and flour). Then he retrieved his laptop and set it on the coffee table, taking a seat on the stray couch cushion that had recently demolished Grimmjow's masterpiece.

_Click click clack click._

Barely an hour later, Grimmjow awoke from his catnap. Although it was rather difficult to discern if the cretin had dozed off in the first place.

"Oi."

_Click click clack click._

"Stop working. We have a week."

"I'm not working," Ulquiorra lied, quickly opening a new window.

"You type differently when you're lying, y'know."

Ulquiorra didn't stop. "That's odd, since I'm not lying."

Grimmjow removed the sleeve from his eyes, bringing his neck up to stare down at Ulquiorra. "The clacking just got weird again."

"Go polygraph something else."

"Nah," Grimmjow put his feet up on the table, right next to the laptop. Ulquiorra did stop typing at that, if only to look offended at the bright blue socks. "Don't think I will. Not 'til you stop being a hardass and tell me what the hell's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." His fingers resumed. "Some of us just wish to finish school eventually."

"Hey, I graduated high school." Grimmjow began to play with other cushion still on the couch, pinwheeling it between his fingers.

"At the very least."

"_And_ I got into the same college as you, genius."

"Only because my grandfather does not want me to travel."

"Still means I'm hella smart."

"Whatever you want to tell yourself."

_Clap._

Ulquiorra found himself facing a closed computer as soon as he had removed his hands to retrieve his textbook.

"Grimmjow."

"Relax, I saved your stuff."

Ulquiorra really did raise an eyebrow at that. Grimmjow couldn't have been that fast. Nonetheless, he was not about to pry the hand from his laptop just to find out. He might as well indulge the freeloader.

"What do you want?"

"If yer not gonna talk," the azure-haired student dismissed, "then you're gonna watch this movie with me."

Somewhere from under his coat, Grimmjow procured three cases. _Aliens vs Earth 1_, _Aliens vs Earth 2_, and _Aliens vs Earth 3_. Ulquiorra applauded this producer for the bombardment of originality.

"I thought you didn't bring your wallet?"

Grimmjow ignored him. "C'mon. It's got blood and explosions. And it's rated pretty good. All that 'why do we exist' deep philosophical shit you like."

He would never be able to explain why he was always persuaded by "deep philosophical shit", but he discovered that his head was nodding.

…

Grimmjow helped himself to some of the instant popcorn in the kitchen, emerging from the kitchen with a green bowl of the buttery stuff just in time to catch Ulquiorra carrying a bundle of blankets onto the couch.

For a moment, he illogically thought that Ulquiorra might have been bringing blankets to watch the movie under, and he almost smiled at the rather domestic thought.

But logic prevailed.

This was Ulquiorra.

Rather domestic died.

"It's 6:30, gramps. The sun doesn't set for another few hours."

"There's nothing wrong with preparing earlier."

Grimmjow was even more confused now, and the hope of watching a movie in toasty blankets glimmered ever so insistently. "But…why are you bringing them out here?"

Ulquiorra bent down to set the blankets into a neat pile. Grimmjow couldn't help noticing the holes in the back pockets. If only those holes went all the way through— "You said the couch was too small, correct?"

"Huh? Yeah, but—,"

"Then nothing."

Grimmjow understood now. Sorta. "Yeah, but… can't we just share the bed? It's hella big."

Ulquiorra didn't immediately reprimand him, which was encouraging, but maybe less so because he no longer regarded the possibility that Grimmjow wasn't joking.

But he could take a hint. "Fine, I get it. But…where're you gonna sleep then?" The blue-haired teen sounded genuinely concerned.

"The couch, of course." That was why he had brought the sheets out. Obviously.

"…Oh. Okay."

"Moron."

Grimmjow bit his words.

…

_"It's too late. It's too late to save mankind. We're all doomed."_

Suddenly reminded of the real world, Ulquiorra chanced a glance at the window. It was getting dark again. He hadn't noticed the time. The lull of the movie had completely rearranged his internal clock, what with its multiple flashbacks and timeskips. Though truth be told, it wasn't actually that bad. Still a waste of 6 hours of his life watching something that could have been shortened into 10 minutes, but Ulquiorra did find the "deep philosophical shit" somewhat worthwhile.

He did like Grimmjow's coinage of that term.

Speaking of whom, from the mop of blue that had made his right shoulder go numb, had probably fallen asleep. He had likely dozed off near the end of the last disc, when the number of bloody spontaneous combustions started to die out.

He gently tilted the head off of him, taking note of the snuffling sounds Grimmjow made. For such a brutish person, he was a surprisingly light sleeper, although Ulquiorra could hardly fathom how he managed to stay asleep through his own snores.

The mysteries of life.

_"Will you still love me, papa? Even if…even if the aliens get us?"_

_"Always."_

On cue, the free-floating tentacles slithered into the underground cellar and discovered the last two humans on Earth.

And it was over.

As the credits began to roll, Ulquiorra got up from his spot on the floor.

—Without his pants.

"GRIMMJOW!" He quickly bent to recover them, belatedly realizing they were connected to something. In his franticness, Ulquiorra failed to account for that possibility, and ended up tripping into a drowsy Grimmjow. Both of them went down.

"FUCK—_WHAT—!"_ Grimmjow looked down the end of his arm to be met with a most pleasing sight. "Shit, I didn't realize you'd be this eas—_OW!_"

"Get your fingers out of my belt loops!"

"Fuck, I'm sorry already!" Grimmjow untangled his hand, rubbing his injured cheek. "I swear I didn't notice!"

Grumbling, Ulquiorra levered himself off of the other, one hand simultaneously pulling up his now freed jeans. He hadn't realized the horrid blue thing had snaked a limb around his waist during the movie, also twining his fingers into his blasted pant loops, thus tugging the entire thing down when he tried to stand.

Tactless brute.

Seeing how agitated the other was, Grimmjow couldn't help add fuel to the fire. "Geez," he mused theatrically, "you'd think he wore pants that loose just to have 'em—,"

Ulquiorra didn't let him finish that thought.

~_This is Not a Striptease~_

A/N: more than 4k words. I hope that makes up for my lack of inspiration and updates. It's now 1:30 a.m., so I am gonna crash on my couch like ulq.

Ahem. Anyways, as u kno, I am a review whore. Leave a comment and I will leave a chapter. Kay? :) prbly b4 winter break is out too!


	6. Sic Et Non

Title: _You Take It Off First  
>Author<em>: Ephemeral Rainfall  
><em>Brief<em>: In which Grimmjow and Ulquiorra attempt to take a shower. Together. With their clothes on.  
>AN: I'm so sorry for the late update. No excuses for me. School and deviantart are distracting.

~ _And Stay Out! _~

Rain splattered darkly against the panes of his bedroom window.

…His _bedroom_ window.

For the second day in a row, Ulquiorra came to with that tempting warmth he so hated brushing gently against his body. Only this time, the pleasing weight on his waist had traveled down a bit, since he was on his stomach, and the hand on the end of the foreign arm was splayed fondly across his backside. Additional force on his thighs told him that the annoyance had hiked one leg over them as well.

…

Ulquiorra was rather proud of the fact that he wouldn't be the one greeting the rather unforgiving floor with said bottom this morning.

"…AaaAAGH, SUNNUVA DUCK!"

…Son of a…duck? He hadn't heard that one before.

"Good morning, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra said steadily.

"You—d'you psh shme off?" Specifically, it had been a kick.

"I would like to ask you about that, Grimmjow."

"Huh? You p'shmeedoff. …You—,"

"We have already established that." This was interesting. Grimmjow's voice had lost that husky, dark edge to it that he had woken up with yesterday morning. Now, if anything, he had an amusing pre-schooler lisp. "What am I doing here, Grimmjow? I went to sleep on the couch last night just so you could have space in the bedroom_ by yourself._ Was I not_ clear _enough?"

"…" For a long while, Grimmjow did not reply, and Ulquiorra thought that maybe he had fallen asleep with his eyes still half-open, sprawled fitfully on the floor.

He slid over a bit and folded his palms over the edge of the bed, craning his neck to get a closer look at the clouded cerulean beneath heavy eyelids, such an odd contrast to their usual striking clarity.

Grimmjow's irises did not shift as Ulquiorra leaned in, one palm resting on the floor as he levered his body half off the bed, so Ulquiorra noted that he must've fallen back to sleep. Oh well, he'd demand his answer later.

Other hand joining the one already cushioning himself, Ulquiorra pushed his weight gently forward once more, magnetized to the sight of a sleeping Grimmjow, so peculiarly innocent and peaceful as opposed with his usual cacophonous demeanor.

He was close enough now that some more treacherous strands of his hair hung perilously close to Grimmjow's cheek, ghosting faintly over the rich skin whenever Ulquiorra exhaled.

Grimmjow had long eyelashes. He had never noticed before, mainly because he had never had such interest or proximity. They were trim, tapering strands of dark navy blue, a shade so heavy that Ulquiorra had always mistaken them for black, thus raising conflict about the natural-ness of Grimmjow's sky-blue mop.

His eyelids were parted a fraction of a millimeter, just so Ulquiorra could glimpse the edge of the irises beneath. The color of Grimmjow's eyes seemed to have shifted when he was unconscious, gaining a translucent, filmy quality. They lost the aggressive, solitary edge that scattered pigeons and frightened squirrels.

Ulquiorra walked one of his palms forward, then aware of how precarious his position on-and-off-the-bed was becoming. Ah well, he would just—

"…Lonely."

Startled at the sudden response—wasn't he _asleep_?—Ulquiorra slipped forward ungracefully, the rest of his body sliding off the bed.

He was spared from the unwelcoming floor as an arm made its way across his shoulders, his face landing into a firm but smooth area, heavy with the scent of a warm summer breeze.

With a jolt as he realized _where_ his face was, Ulquiorra ineptly resisted, managing to send the rest of his body off the bed in a mass of sheets, landing firmly on Grimmjow, who accepted the additional weight with a soft '_oomph'_.

Wrenching his face away from the comfortable crevice between Grimmjow's neck and shoulders, Ulquiorra sat back panting, cheeks already flushed. Damnit his plan completely backfired.

"Don't hurt yourself, Dollface," came the amused, impudent taunt, now devoid of all morning bleariness. Ulquiorra could feel the rumble beneath his palms as Grimmjow spoke, the blue-haired male's abdominal region—six pack, really?—convulsing in chuckles.

…Wait…if his hands were on Grimmjow's stomach…Ulquiorra soon realized just where he was sitting, and why his seat was so uncomfortably _pointy_.

Jumping up and rushing into the bathroom, (his room was now contaminated), Ulquiorra slammed the door and locked it, only remembering too late how easily Grimmjow could break in.

_Bloody hell._

Before Grimmjow could expose his poorly thought-out escape plan, Ulquiorra waltzed out of the bathroom with his face drenched in cold water, which didn't really help the bright red at all. Correctly counting on the taller's hatred of mornings, he managed to march past without inciting any violent or otherwise discomforting outbursts, straight into his closet where he reached in for a new shirt.

He had barely slipped an arm into the sleeve when a hand landed on his shoulder, simultaneous with an intense flash of lightning—just like in that movie yesterday, Ulquiorra connected. In the next instant, it pulsated off of him just as he turned to slap it away. Thunder rumbled loudly shortly after.

"What do you want?"

"To ta—," _CRRRHKKK._ Grimmjow's eyes dilated slightly at the fierce curl of lightning, completely fumbling the rest of his sentence.

Ulquiorra noted the flush of discomfort that washed briefly into his roommate's face.

"Are you…afraid of lightning, Grimmjow?" He could barely grasp it.

The flush instantly evaporated. The other's mouth wrenched into a sardonic sneer. "Fuck no!"

Something dawned on Ulquiorra. "Is that why you brought me inside?" the brunet mocked, uncharacteristic lilt to his voice. "'Grimmjow Goddamn Jeagerjacques' is scared of a bit of noise."

Grimmjow's brows furrowed in agitation, for once registering the change in tone. "Fuck you! I ain't—," a roll of thunder interrupted him.

At Ulquiorra's nearly amused stare, Grimmjow decided to change methods, squaring his shoulders like an affronted cat. "You—what's up with you anyways? It's usually I step into the room and you're up, but yesterday you were out like a log!" Damn heavy like a log too, he mentally added. Seriously, you'd think what with being so short and stick-like he'd weigh next to nothing, but nooo.

Ulquiorra tallied the subject change and filed it away for future reference. "I find thunderstorms calming."

Grimmjow scrutinized him as if he had sprouted another head. "Are ya shitting me? It's a bunch of violent good-for-nothing noise, and ya never know when you could be next!"

"So you _are_ afraid of thunder." A small crackle of lightning lit up the room just as the last word landed.

"Hell no, moron! It was just a little loud, and I got bored cuz I couldn't sleep!"

"Excuses, excuses—,"

"Shut up. Can we go eat now?"

Ulquiorra nearly wrinkled his nose. "Have you showered yet?"

"I'll shower after you feed me." Grimmjow insistently tugged on his elbow. "Let's go."

"…I need to dress first."

"Go ahead."

"…Leave."

"No."

"I can't dress with you here."

"Well then you can wear that frilly apron. _Only that apron._"

"LEAVE."

…

They had cereal.

Of all the shopping they had done yesterday, Ulquiorra could come up with nothing besides cereal.

Bland, half-soggy, boring cereal. With a side of bland, half-dry, boring silence.

Ulquiorra desperately wanted to break it. Perhaps Grimmjow's love of destruction was rubbing off on him.

…No. That was most definitely not it.

"…Kurosaki's cat," he tapped a spoonful of yogurt against the container, "is also afraid of thunder."

"Can you blame her?" Grimmjow jumped on the topic, visibly dying to kill the silence as well. "Kit-Cat's always been real sensitive to noise—,"

"You _named_ it?" Sentimental. Even Kurosaki didn't lavish as much attention on the stray feline, and it was his house it had claimed as its own too. And the name…Kit-Kat? Grimmjow dared to call him droll and inconsiderate.

Grimmjow swallowed a mouthful of mushy cereal. "Not _it_, _her_."

"If you named her after _candy_, you have no right to criticize my generalization of her sex."

"I didn't! It's Kit-_Cat_, with a _C_, like kitten-cat!" Grimmjow protested, indignant.

"…I fail to see how that makes it any better."

"Y'know what, screw you! As if you could come up with a better name!"

"I could think of a better one right now."

"Oh yeah? What would you call her then?"

Ulquiorra didn't hesitate to answer. "Ceres."

Grimmjow looked in the general direction of the cupboard, noticing the box of puffed rice instantly. He then glanced down at the little pieces of broken breakfast food drowning pitifully in his milk. "Cereal. Nice. I can _feel_ the respect."

"Cereal comes from that name, not the other way around. Ceres was the Greek goddess of the harvest."

"I'm not naming any cat after Cheerios."

Ulquiorra picked up a fork and speared one of said life-saver-shaped pieces from his bowl. "You're right, it doesn't suit her personality. It's too open-ended and generous for a cat. She needs something aloof, treacherous, and foreshadowing… How about Charybdis?"

"Dude, what is up with you and the Greek crap?" Grimmjow glanced into the living room where he had entered two nights ago, remembering the nasty nerdy book of _Socratic Seminar_ that the shorter had been occupied with. "…Never mind."

"Artemis would be a good name," Ulquiorra mused, having fun. "Or you could—,"

Grimmjow took the lifeline. "Kay, fine! She's Artemis, will you shut up now?"

"No."

"What else do you want?"

Ulquiorra was in the mood to indulge. "You slept with me against my will twice, I—,"

"Uncalled for!" This was certainly a turning of the metaphorical table. A very welcome turn, actually.

"Get your head out of the gutter." Ulquiorra calmly took a bite of his yogurt.

"You're the one who always says awkward shit!" Grimmjow's violent motions splashed some of his milk out the edges of the bowl, leaving behind small pools of white on the tablecloth.

Ulquiorra was definitely feeling decadent. "I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't dragged me into bed," this time he had to consciously repress the impulse to smirk.

"There you go again with the weird wording!" The blue-haired male huffed and pulled out a napkin, slamming it against the puddles of milk, only achieving the birth of more spillage.

Grimmjow was just a cycle of destruction, Ulquiorra mused, peacefully consuming his dairy product as the cyan-eyed wonder sloshed milk everywhere. It was entertaining to watch. "You wouldn't be subject to it if you had left me alone," he interjected, pointing with a spoon. Grimmjow's vigorous rubbing with the waterlogged napkin sped up.

"Y'know what? It wasn't worth it! You're fucking heavy!" Grimmjow spouted without thinking.

Bad.

Choice.

The atmosphere dropped a few degrees, although Grimmjow failed to see the outcome of his words, being so absorbed in mopping up the lactose.

"Are you…implying…that I am _fat_, Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra had long since grown immune to the insults of him being underweight and nigh-anorexic, (he was perfectly healthy, damnit), but _heavy_…he had never.

Too late, Grimmjow realized what he had done. "Fuck no!" he spat, completely inconsiderate. At Ulquiorra's insistent glare, he gnawed on his lip. "…I was just tired from not bein' able to sleep, and you were really just _conked out_, y'know what I mean? And…"

"…" Ulquiorra's expression didn't change.

Grimmjow considered what he had been blabbering about. What the hell was he apologizing for? Tch, stupid. "Why're ya bein' such a _girl_ anyways? It's a fricken' compliment!"

"I am _not _a girl."

"See? This is what I'm talking about! Yer twistin' my words!"

"I fail to see how the calling one overweight would be a compliment to either gender."

"Well if you had _any_ testosterone—,"

"All people are born with testosterone, Grimmjow."

"—you'd wanna be called heavy 'cuz it'd mean you're like, I dunno, built or something! No guy in their right mind wants to be called a stick, ya fairy!"

"No one wants to be called "fucking heavy" either. I highly doubt any brain-dead jockey would take it that way if you had approached him so."

"Muscle weighs more than fat, ya pansy."

"That does not change the fact that you said I was 'fucking heavy'." Ulquiorra did not swear much, but it gave him an odd charge to use Grimmjow's own dialect on him.

"Definitely a chick."

"I am _not_ a—,"

"Prove it then!"

"You've seen me shirtless, imbecile."

"Hermaphrodite."

Grimmjow was doing it again. The running of the mouth without the brain. "…You are making it difficult to refrain from hurting you."

"Nah, I'm just tryna make you drop yer pants."

Ulquiorra did not care that Grimmjow was cleaning. He punched the moron anyways.

Grimmjow reflexively shifted to return the blow, tipping over the rest of the milk with his arm. It splashed over the side of the table onto the floor, splattering onto Grimmjow's shirt and dribbling onto his jeans in the process. Ulquiorra watched passively as Grimmjow yelped and leapt away from the clutter.

"Crap, learn to throw yer punches already! If that's what telling the truth gets me, I'm gonna…" He uselessly wadded up a corner of the tablecloth to blot at the clear-white stain on his pants.

Ulquiorra automatically got up to pull a bunch of towels onto the mess. "Simple methods such as penalization don't work for you anyways." He knelt slightly to clean the spill, silently recognizing his part in creating it. "Your peanut brain doesn't have the capacity for consequence association."

Grimmjow righted his chair, dropping the corner of tablecloth to steal a towel. "If at first ya don't succeed, try, try again!" He rubbed at the stain on his jeans that refused to come off. "What about positive reinforcement? Ever tried that?" Great. The awkward splotch in the middle of his left thigh was there to stay.

Giving up, he knelt to join Ulquiorra in fixing the puddle on the floor, only to find that he had placed his knee squarely into the milk. Cursing, he leant back onto his haunches to try to staunch the liquid from spreading further along his pants.

Ulquiorra inaudibly sighed at his antics. "With you, it's impossible to consider the softer approach."

Grimmjow's lip curled as he viciously attacked the wet spot on his knee. "What, cuz it'd require High-and-Mighty Pole-Up-His-Ass Schiffer to step off his pedestal and recognize others for a change?"

Ulquiorra snorted, not looking up from his work. "For me to do that would require you being something worth recognizing."

Grimmjow's hand stopped.

Ulquiorra didn't notice.

Grimmjow stood up.

Ulquiorra continued wiping.

"I'm going to change."

It wasn't until the door slammed that Ulquiorra ceased cleaning to momentarily wonder if something was wrong.

_~Too Little, Too Late~_

A/N: Hm. question: how long do u guys think this should last? I already have the last chapter in mind, but I'm not sure how much more to do in between…including the dreaded M rating, which I am feeling pressure for…

_Thanks to TheCatIntheHat for the rush beta-job! And u amazing readers. U GAIZ ROCK. Next chapter es coming, I sware!_


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